Wednesday, 17 June 2009
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The whispers of the night keep me awake. A few nights now. I lie there listening to what she has to tell me. Things that I try to convince myself of, but mostly the things I can’t remove out of my mind. Her words swindle my thoughts into stormy imagination. I know, what she tells me may deem true but there is this fine hope it would not.
‘Why do you want to raze my spirits to the grounds?’ I ask her. She can’t help it. She simply needs to express her worries to me; to warn me perhaps? But it kept me up. So much so I became restless when the sun is down. I hear her going on, and on. Hitting on points where I try to shy away from. I’m tired. I need my rest. There’s more to go tomorrow.
She wouldn’t listen. She can’t control it. She’ll just say what she needs to. May it take your sanguinity away, or dim the light you had. It’s hard to shut her off. You may scream at her. You may tell her off. But certainly, you may never ignore her. Her words may pierce through the shield where you hid, her screeches into your ears. She’s there, and her presence will be well known to you.
It’ll end when your last bit of energy is taken away from you. You lie there, not being able to think straight. Close your eyes, finally at rest.
Maybe she wants to protect. Maybe she’s placed there for no good reason. Maybe even to harm. I don’t know.
But I write now. Because her voice speaks to me again. That persistent sound that comes in the night, and sometimes, even during daylight.
Little-Pizza
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